


Friends don't let friends be sore (losers)

by WildWolf25



Series: Message in a Bottle Series (prompts from my ship-mate) [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, Gen, M/M, Massages, one of those five times X one time Y things, platonic cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildWolf25/pseuds/WildWolf25
Summary: Five times Lance gives someone on the team a massage and the one time he gets one in return





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HERE YOU GO SHIPPY I'M SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER *throws this at you*
> 
> (Every so often I like to switch to writing a fic in present tense BECAUSE I HATE MYSELF. I checked for consistency but if you spot a mistake let me know)

It starts back at the Garrison, one evening when Hunk comes back from his mechanical lab class.  He had been lying on his back on a garage creeper underneath a fighter jet for the better part of two hours, checking the engine and making repairs while Iverson walked around and critiqued everyone’s work.  Hunk loves working with his hands and actually enjoys taking care of engines, but his arms are still sore from the work and he already knows he’s going to be feeling that tomorrow.

When he gets back to his dorm room, Lance is already back and working on his homework for his aviation class, one leg propped up on the corner of this desk because he seems to be incapable of sitting like a regular person for very long.  That aviation class is the bane of Lance’s existence, as someone who learns by  _ doing  _ rather than theory, and who argues that all the books in the world can’t compare to getting practical experience in the flight simulator.  But books are cheaper than flight simulators and easier to distribute to cadets, so it was frequently the method most instructors choose.

Hunk leans against the back of the door with a heavy sigh, kicking his shoes off.  “Hey,”

“Sup?” Lance greets, then finally looks up from his book.  “Woah, you look like hell.”  

Hunk pauses in rubbing the back of his neck.  “Do I have engine grease on my face again?”  It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.

“No, you just look… tired.”  Lance says.  “Like really exhausted.”

“I just had a practical exam.  Repairing fighter jets.”  Hunk explains, unbuttoning his Garrison uniform top.  Oh great, he had gotten grease on his sleeve again.  Occupational hazard, he supposed.  He scrubs at it.  “And to top if off, Finley from class 1  _ stole  _ my allen-head for the better part of class.  Who even  _ does _ that?”

“Sounds like that really threw a wrench in your plans.”  Lance smirks.  Hunk snorts in amusement.

He hangs up his uniform shirt on the closet door and drops into his desk chair with another weighty sigh.  He doesn’t want to study, he wants to take a nap and then go eat dinner and then go to bed.  But this physics assignment is due tomorrow, and the instructor will have his head if he doesn’t do it.  

Hunk sets the heavy physics textbook on his desk and opens it to the chapter they’re on.  As he reads about inertia, he finds himself stretching his arm back and reaching beneath the collar of his t-shirt to massage the back of his neck.  It was really his arms and his shoulders that ached, though, from working on the engine while on his back, and he can’t quite reach where he really wants to get.  He rolls his shoulders, feeling restless but at the same time exhausted.

“Want a shoulder massage?”  Lance asks.  

Hunk pauses in the middle of rubbing his neck and half-turns around in his seat.  “Huh?”

“A shoulder massage.  Do you want one?”  Lance points at him.  “You look sore.  My cousin Audrey is a mechanic too, and she always needs a shoulder rub after a really long day.”  

“If you’re offering, sure,” Hunk says, dropping his hand.  “If it’s not too much trouble.”  

“Please, I’m dying over here reading this dumb book.  It’ll give me something to do and it’ll make you feel better.  Best of both worlds.”  Lance says, standing up.  He laces his fingers together and stretches in front of himself, popping the joints.  “I’m basically a professional masseuse anyway, it’s no trouble.”  

“Really?”  Hunk asks as Lance rests his hands on his shoulders.

“Well, not certified or anything,” Lance admits.  “I just have a huge family, so I get lots of practice.”  He starts rubbing the muscles along his shoulders, getting the muscles warmed up before going deeper.  “My abuela gets aches and pains all the time, and my aunt is starting to develop arthritis.  And my mamá is on her feet all day at work, so I give her foot massages after a long day.  And Audrey sometimes needs a shoulder massage after she gets back from her shop, especially after long repair jobs.  And then there was the couple of months where my brother got a stress fracture; not only did I have to massage his ankle every night, I had to hide his baseball gear so he didn’t sneak off to practice before it healed.”  He chuckles at the memory.

“Your family is pretty big, isn’t it?”  Hunk asks.  He had once briefly been introduced to Lance’s family via Skype, when Lance had been talking with them and they had noticed Hunk sitting at the desk behind Lance and demanded to meet his roommate.  There had been at least a dozen people crowded around the screen, and they had said that wasn’t even all of them.

“Yep.  And I’ve given pretty much everyone in it some kind of massage, usually multiple times, so I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”  Lance says easily, pushing his thumbs into a knot in Hunk’s muscles.  “You know, it feels kind of weird, being at the Garrison.  Everyone in my family is super close, and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a minute of the day where I didn’t have little siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews climbing all over me, until I came here.  I miss family cuddle piles.”

“An astro-military institution isn’t a likely place for cuddle piles, I imagine.”  Hunk says.  

“It should be.  Cuddles are applicable to every aspect of life.”  Lance says.  “Especially given the military’s tendency to have sticks up their asses.  Maybe if someone gave Iverson a massage once in awhile he wouldn’t be so damn cranky all the time.”

“Are you volunteering?”  Hunk chuckles.

“Hell no.”  Lance snorts, then pauses to think about it.  “Well, if he truly had no other friends in his life to do it for him, and there was a guarantee that he wouldn’t snap my head off, I guess I would sacrifice myself as tribute for the greater good.  Ugh.  It wouldn’t be enjoyable, though.  But better that than him yelling at me for the rest of the year, I guess.”

“Your valiant sacrifice is acknowledged, but I think that stick has permanently fused with Iverson’s ass.”  Hunk says.  “He’s a lost cause.”

“Agreed.”  Lance pauses.  “You know who else has a stick up his ass?  Keith.”

“Oh boy, here we go again.”  Hunk sighs.  “Lance, you barely even know Keith.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s still a stuck-up asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”  Lance grouses, digging his thumbs into another knot.  “Just because he’s such an  _ amazing  _ and  _ naturally talented  _ pilot… Jeez, how come Iverson never goes off at  _ him _ ?”

“You’re not even in the same flight simulator class.”  Hunk points out.  “You don’t know Iverson doesn’t yell at him.”  

“Yeah, well, he probably doesn’t.”  Lance says lamely.  “Him and his stupid haircut…”

“Ah, yes, because your haircut has everything to do with your piloting ability.”  

“Well… a little.”  Lance grumbles.  “If it’s too long it might get in your eyes and make you crash.”

“What is your deal with Keith, anyway?”  Hunk asks.  “You’re always complaining about him, but have you ever actually met the guy?  Like exchanged names, not just been in the same class.”

“He’s too perfect and it’s annoying.”  Lance huffs.  Hunk snorts quietly in amusement.  Right.  Lance pokes him in the spine for that.  “There, how’s that feel?  Still sore?”

Hunk rolls his shoulders out and tilts his head from side to side.  “Nope, that feels great.  Thanks, man.”  

“Hey, anytime.”  Lance pats his shoulder and walks back to his desk.  “Like I said, I’m used to that, it’s not a problem.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* someone’s got a crush-a-roo…  
> If you noticed the Atlantis reference with his cousin you’re awesome, that’s my favorite movie


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter takes place at the Garrison during the time when they think Pidge is a guy and it’s… sort of from Lance’s perspective (?), I used he/him pronouns for Pidge, but that’ll change in later chapters. *shrugs* It’s what I thought made sense, given the timeline, sorry.

The second time it comes up, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are studying together in the library, their books and Pidge’s laptop spread out over the expanse of the table they snagged in the back corner of the library.

“I hate you so much.  I am going to take out your hard drive and rip it apart with my bare hands if you don’t  _ effing render correctly _ …” Pidge jams his finger against the keyboard, glaring murderously at his laptop.

“That’s a funny thing for our com-spec to say.”  Lance points out.  “I thought you loved computers?”

“I love them when they do what I want them to.”  Pidge grumbles.  

“Which class are you working on?”  Hunk asks, turning a page in his textbook.

“Uh, extracurricular project.”  Pidge says, frowning at the equations scrawled in his notebook as his fingers fly over they keyboard, eyes periodically flicking over to the screen to check his work.

“Really?  What is it?”  Hunk asks, curious.

“None of your business.”  Pidge says.

Lance claps his hands over his cheeks, eyes opening wide in feigned surprise.  “Oh my god, I bet he’s writing erotic fanfiction.”

“What?  No.”  Pidge gives him a weird look.

“You totally are, that’s why you get jumpy whenever someone touches your laptop.”  Lance goes on.  “I bet it’s the smuttiest, kinkiest, dirtiest fanfic, too, like  _ Fifty Shades of Gray _ level, probably with superhero characters--”

“I’m not writing erotic fanfiction!”  Pidge hisses, glancing around nervously to see if anyone overheard their conversation.

“Then what  _ are  _ you working on?”  Lance asks.  “Otherwise we’ll just have to assume it’s fanfiction.  Which we wouldn’t mind you sharing, anyway.”

“Write your own damn fanfiction,” Pidge glares at him.  “I’m not doing it.”

“Then what is it?”  Hunk asks, reaching for Pidge’s laptop.  

“Hands off,” Pidge swats his hand away from the screen.  “And if you  _ must  _ know, it’s a long distance radio frequency scanner.”  Pidge pushes his glasses further up his nose.  

“What for?”

“Um, no reason in particular.”  Pidge says shortly.  “Just ignore me.”  

“We can’t just ignore you, we’re buddies.”  Lance says.  “What’s the scanner for?”

“We’re not even friends.”  Pidge arches an eyebrow at him, ignoring the question.  “We’re just on the same flight team.”  

“ _ Yeah _ , we’re teammates, and that makes us friends.”  Lance tells him, gesturing between the three of them.  “We’re buddies, get used to it.”  

“I’m not here to make friends.”  Pidge turns back to his computer.  

“Looks like we can include Pidge on the list of people at the Garrison who have sticks up their butts.”  Lance says to Hunk, then turns back to Pidge.  “Well, if you’re not here to make friends, then what  _ are  _ you here for?”

“That’s my business.”  Pidge says, voice sharp.  He grimaces and takes his hand away from the keyboard for a moment to shake it rapidly, then pops his knuckles before returning to whatever he’s typing.  

“Give me your hands,” Lance sighs, reaching across the table.  

“Uh, no?” Pidge draws his hands back, looking distrustful.  

“Your hands probably sore from working on your computer so much.”  Lance says.  “As our team’s com-spec, computers are your job, so you can’t risk getting carpal tunnel.  I’m not flunking our next flight simulator exam just because you can’t take care of your digits.  I’ll give you a hand massage, and then you can go back to your radio scanner or writing Iron Man bondage fanfic--”

“No one is writing fanfiction!”  Pidge hisses.

“--or whatever else you do on your laptop all the time.”  Lance snaps his fingers.  “Come on, give me your hands, chop chop.”

“No way.”  Pidge frowns and turns back to his laptop, cracking his knuckles against the tabletop.  The sound makes Lance wince.  His poor joints...

“Alright that’s it, hand over your hands, Gunderson.”  He reaches across the table and grabs his hands.  

“Hey!”

“Just roll with it.”  Hunk tells him, turning a page in his book.  “I promise you’ll feel better afterward.”  

Pidge growls but stops trying to pull his hands away from Lance, who quickly gets to work massaging his teammate’s palms.  

“Your hands are  _ tiny _ , dude.”  Lance says, marvelling at them.  They look like his younger sister’s hands, the one who is only a year younger than him.  Not surprising, given Pidge’s height, but still, a little odd for a guy his age.  

“Keep that up and you’ll be getting a punch in the face with my ‘tiny’ hands.”  Pidge grumbled.  

“You need,” Lance pauses in his work to press Pidge’s palms together, clapping them softly with each word for emphasis.  “To, take, a, chill, pill.”  

Pidge glares at him.  “I don’t have  _ time  _ to  _ chill _ .  I have things to  _ do _ .”  

“Like what?”  Lance asks, pressing his thumbs into the meat of his palm.  “What are you in such a rush for?”

Pidge goes quiet and says nothing.  

Hunk looks up.  “Does it have something to do with Kerberos?”  

Lance can feel Pidge tense up, his fingers twitching like he wants to curl them in.  “Why would you think that?”  

Hunk just points to the stack of books next to Pidge’s laptop --  _ Pluto and its Moons, A Study of Aero-Space Piloting Complications, Moons of Pluto and Neptune,  _ and  _ Analysis of the Edge of the Solar System, Revised Edition _ \-- and raises an eyebrow.  “It’s bordering on obsessive.”

“So I have an interest in space, big deal.”  Pidge says.  “Isn’t that kind of why we’re all here?”

“But why Kerberos specifically?”  Hunk asks.  

“I…” Pidge looks down.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”  He says, his voice quiet.  Hunk and Lance share a look.

“That’s okay.  Just know that if you do, we’re here.”  Lance finishes by giving his hands a little squeeze before letting go.  “Does that feel better?”

Pidge flexes his fingers, blinking in surprise.  “Actually… yeah.  Thanks, I guess.”

“No problemo,” Lance says, sitting back.  He’s about to go back to his reading when he notices Pidge rub the back of his neck before resuming his typing.  Quantum physics can wait, he decides.  Not like he’s actually interested in it.  “Oh, the things I do for my friends, woe is me,” he heaves an overly-dramatic sigh as he gets to his feet.

“No one is asking you to do anythi--  _ what  _ the heck, man?!”  Pidge draws his shoulders up to his ears when Lance’s hand gets near the back of his neck.  

“Neck massage.”  Lance says, pushing his shoulders down again.  

“Do you  _ always  _ molest your teammates?”  Pidge glares at him over his shoulder.  

“Just my friends.”  Lance winks.  “Friends don’t let friends be  _ sore  _ losers, heh.”  He pokes Pidge in the back while Hunk groans at the joke.  “Sit up.  Your posture is terrible, always hunched over your computer.”  

“You’re incorrigible.”  Pidge mutters, sitting up a little straighter.  

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day.”  Lance pretends to wipe a tear away, then drums his fingers on Pidge’s shoulders.  “Relax.  I’m not gonna read your smut fic over your shoulder.”

“No one is writing a smut fic.”  Pidge sighs, but rolls his shoulders out and tries to relax.  Lance gets to work, and it’s a little harder than doing this for Hunk before since Pidge is wearing his uniform, and probably a t-shirt under that.  And some kind of weirdly-thick undershirt with narrow straps?  He could feel it at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and down his back, like a racerback tank top.

“What’s with the weird tank top thing?  Don’t you get hot with all those layers?”  Lance asks, his hands moving lower.  Pidge tenses up instantly.  He pauses and looks down at him.  “What?”  

“I, uh, I think I’m good.  No more neck massages.”  Pidge tells him, leaning away from him.

“You sure?”  Lance asks.

“Positive.”  Pidge says, opening a book up at random and staring at it without seeming to read what he’s looking at.  “Thanks, though.”  His ears look a little on the pink side.

“Alright,” Lance shrugs and heads back to his seat.  “Anytime.”  He notices Hunk watching Pidge carefully, looking thoughtful, but Lance can’t imagine why.  Must be thinking about what a weird kid Gunderson is.  Who turns down a neck massage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pidge, later, in her room: “how did he know about the fanfiction buT NOT THAT I'M A GIRL???”


	3. Chapter 3

Getting whisked away from Earth in a semi-magical robotic space cat and being sucked into a millennia-long intergalactic war is, understandably, a stressful experience.  Not to mention all the training and physical work they find themselves doing.  It’s not surprising that they suffer aches and pains and stiff muscles.  Given that they were roommates and friends back on Earth, Hunk has no qualms about coming to Lance whenever he needs a shoulder rub or back massage after a long day of working on his lion.  Pidge is slightly more reserved, and it’s not until after the battle with Sendak and she stops keeping secrets about her past from her team that she feels comfortable enough with them to accept his offer for another hand massage (it probably helped that she was severely sleep-deprived from staying up two nights in a row to work in her lab, and that her fingers were so stiff she could hardly move them).  After that, though, Pidge has no problem with finding Lance when she feels sore, flopping across his lap or back, and sleepily demanding a massage.  Lance, of course, has no issue with this; he misses his family even more since they left Earth, and giving massages feels like a little piece of home while they’re floating around in space.  

Time is a tricky thing, outside a solar system.  With no fixed rotation of a planet in relation to a sun, they really have no idea how much time has passed since they left Earth.  The castle has an automatic cycle of dimming and brighter lights that seemed about equal to human circadian rhythms, thankfully, so they have “days” so to speak, but anything past a week is a little hard to keep track of.

It feels, though, like it has been a few weeks to a month since they began this space adventure.  Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are hanging out in the room with the couches that the paladins have dubbed ‘the lounge’, since the Altean word for the room turned out to be at least twenty-five letters long and involved some consonants they didn’t think humans were physically capable of pronouncing.  Hunk is tucked into a corner reading a tablet data-book he found in the library, shoulders loose and relaxed after yet another massage (he has started bribing Lance with treats from his experiments in the kitchen).  Pidge, on the other hand, is lying face-down on the couch, Lance sitting by her hip and pushing his thumbs into a nasty bunch of knots that have formed in her lower back.  

“I told you to sit at the desk like a normal person,” Lance says.  “But nooo, you had to sit on the floor like a techy cave-goblin… and you know who’s paying the price now?  Your back.”

“I work better when I can spread all my stuff out around me rather than piling it up on a single desk.”  Pidge grouses.

“Ooh, we should get you one of those circular info desks like they had on that one episode of  _ Parks & Rec _ ,” Hunk suggests.  “You could have a spinny-chair and just swivel around to whatever side you need.”

“Let’s be honest, if any of us had a spinny desk chair, nothing would ever get done.”  Pidge chuckles.  

“It’d be fun, though.”  Lance says, working his way up her back.  “And it would keep you from hunching over your laptop on the floor.”  Kneading her back through her sweater, he can feel some kind of thick, narrow straps over her shoulders and down her back in a T-shape.  He pauses.  “Oh my god,” he says, realizing something.  “You’re wearing a  _ sports bra _ …”  

Pidge quirks an eyebrow up and gives him a bland look over her shoulder.  “Huh, is  _ that  _ what the thing I put on this morning is?  I had no idea, truly.”

“Back at the Garrison, you nerd.”  Lance tells her, pushing his thumbs into the muscle again.  “That time I tried to give you a neck massage.  I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out.”

“ _ I  _ can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, either.”  Pidge snorts.

The door behind them opens with a quiet  _ whoosh _ and Shiro walks in.  “Hey, have you guys seen Coran anywhere?”

“He said something about running some errands in a pod and said he would be back in ‘ _ two shakes of a ijutihok’s tail _ ’, whatever that means.”  Pidge says.  

“Which is… how long?”  Shiro asks, looking confused.  

“No idea.”  Hunk says.  “He’s been gone about an hour.  I give it two more before we go ask Allura how long he’s supposed to be gone.”  

“Did you need something?”  Lance asks, looking up from rolling his knuckles into Pidge’s back.  

Shiro looks hesitant, self-consciously reaching up to rub at his upper right arm.  “Yeah, but… it’s okay, I’ll just wait for him.  It’s fine.  I’m fine.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of England.”  Pidge says, not looking convinced in the slightest.  “What’s up?”

“I… he usually gives me some painkillers, when my… when my arm starts acting up.”  Shiro says quietly, gaze dropping to their feet to avoid looking at their eyes.  “I’d get them myself, but I can’t read any of the Altean labels on the bottles in the infirmary…”

“What kind of pain?”  Hunk asks.  “Is it the arm itself or your arm?”

“Both, sort of.”  Shiro admits.  “The muscles ache, especially where it connect to the prosthetic.  And there’s a  _ ton  _ of scar tissue; it feels all knotted up and tense…” 

“Well,” Lance says slowly, and he and Pidge seem to be on the same wavelength as she starts to sit up and scoot out of the way.  “Can’t help you with the reading Altean thing, but if you want, I can try massaging your arm.  There’s a certain way to massage recently-injured areas to relax the muscles without causing pain.  Scar tissue actually needs to be massaged to break it up.”

“Really?”  Shiro still looks a little uncertain.  “Are you sure that’s… okay?”

“I just had my hands all over Hunk and Pidge’s backs for like, the millionth time since we’ve been in space.  I’d say I’m pretty okay with it.”  Lance says, gesturing to the two of them.  

“Yeah, but weren’t you guys friends before?”  Shiro says.  “We… haven’t exactly known each other very long.”

“Oh please, like I was ever friends with these dorks.”  Pidge quips, scrolling back to the previous page on Hunk’s tablet book.  

“Pidge, you are  _ literally sitting in my lap _ .”  Hunk points out.

“You’re comfy and we’re friends  _ now _ .”  Pidge says simply.  “But yeah, Lance gave me a hand massage like, what, two months after we met?  And it managed to not be awkward.  Plus, we’ve all shared consciousnesses several times whenever we’ve formed Voltron.  Can’t get much closer than that.”  

“It’s a friendly massage, not a candlelit dinner for two at the Ritz.”  Lance adds.  “But if you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine too.  But I’m willing to help.”

Shiro quietly considers it, absently rubbing his thumb into scarred bicep.  He seems to push on something that hurts, and he winces a little.  “Okay, if you’re alright with it.”  He sighs, taking a seat on the couch next to Lance.  “There’s a lot of scarring, though, sorry.  I’m not exactly pretty…”

“That is debatable.”  Pidge mutters under her breath.

“Scarring is fine.  I massaged my abuela’s scars after her knee surgery.  It actually promotes healing.”  Lance says, rolling the sleeve up to see what he’s working with.  Years of playing poker with his cousins and pretending like he didn’t have any candy around his siblings allows him to keep a carefully-blank face as he gently turns Shiro’s arm over, examining it before he gets started.  Damn, he hadn’t been kidding about the scars.  It isn’t exactly surprising, given what he went through in the arena, and especially considering he had a cyborg prosthetic grafted onto his arm, but the sight still manages to cause a little flip-flopping feeling in the pit of Lance’s stomach.  The entire area of skin around the top of the metal looks like it had been hacked apart and then stitched back together haphazardly.  Whoever did this clearly prioritized function over appearance.  Unfortunately, function isn’t just internal; all this scarring on and under his skin was undoubtedly causing Shiro a huge amount of pain.  Sure, the arm worked, but at what cost?  At what cost to his skin and the muscles underneath, cobbled together like a blindly-sewn patchwork quilt?  At what cost to his body, with the stress of removing an entire limb and replacing it with something so foreign?  At what cost to his sanity, after living through something like that?  It was no wonder Shiro had amnesia, having suffered so much trauma.  

“Do you happen to know how this thing works?”  Lance frowns and runs his finger lightly over the seam where metal meets flesh.  “Like, you’re able to move it at will, so it’s gotta be hooked up to your neural system and stuff, right?  Is it safe to put pressure on it?”  He doesn’t want to cause any unneeded pain.

“I… honestly don’t know,” Shiro admits quietly.  “I don’t remember anything about the operation, I barely remember even having it.  It seems pretty sturdy, though, since it can survive battle.  Pressure should be fine.” 

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”  Lance meets his eyes.  “Don’t just sit there all brave and soldierly if you’re in pain.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise.”  Shiro nods.  

Satisfied with that, Lance gets to work.  Using just the pads of his fingertips, he gently massages each and every scar in three directions; in a circle, horizontal, and vertical.  He starts with light pressure and checks in with Shiro every time he goes deeper, gradually breaking apart a few of the smaller, newer scars.  The older ones are like thick ropes under his skin, and they will take much longer to break down, if they ever can.  After working through the knots close to the seam of the prosthetic, he works his way up Shiro’s arm, taking care of wider, shallower cuts that look like they came from a sword or dagger in the arena than a doctor’s scalpel.  

“With my abuela’s knee surgery, I massaged her scar two or three times daily for ten minutes.”  Lance says.

“We’ve been here considerably longer than ten minutes.”  Shiro says.  It feels closer to an hour.  Pidge has fallen asleep on Hunk’s lap and Hunk’s eyes are drooping as he reads, close to sleep himself.  

“No offense, but you have considerably more scars than her one little knee surgery.”  Lance points out.  “But what I’m saying is, this isn’t going to fix the problem right away.  If you’re okay with it, though, we can do it more often and see how much pain we get rid of.  I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to get it to go away completely, but I can sure as heck try.”

“Getting rid of any amount of pain would be a relief, even if it’s small.”  Shiro says.  “Thank you.  I… I might take you up on that.”

“Anytime.”  Lance smiles, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.  “Anytime.”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is an actual cat lmao


	4. Chapter 4

They settle into a rhythm, after that.  Shiro starts to come find him in evenings, then after lunch and in the evenings, then before breakfast as well in order to get in a few ten-minute sessions of scar massage.  Eventually, Shiro gradually becomes comfortable enough to take off his shirt and let Lance work on the scars that lace across his back.  The battle scars there are few and far between, like the ones on his stomach, proof that he had tried to avoid getting hit there as much as possible with his arms and shoulders and legs taking the brunt of it.  The exception on his back is the dozens of thick ropes of knotted scar tissue that are long and fairly straight; they look like they were made by a whip, and it hurts Lance to even look at them.  Shiro doesn’t remember getting any of them; there are only scraps and flashes of memories that come back to him, almost like his mind is trying to keep them locked away to protect him.  Shiro honestly can’t say whether he even wants to remember them or not.  Sometimes he does, because  _ not  _ knowing is so unnerving.  Sometimes, though, he thinks he might be better off not knowing.  

Lance teaches Shiro the technique for massaging scars, so he can do the ones on his front, on his hips and thighs, by himself, as he isn’t comfortable taking off more than his shirt.  Shiro appreciates what Lance does for him, but he also likes being able to do it for himself, if only because he has always valued self-sufficiency.  It gives him time to think, too, to try and remember as he goes over each scar.  Sometimes, though, he gets too stuck in his own head and finds himself knocking on Lance’s door, eager for the blue paladin’s easy chatter and practiced fingers working apart the knots in his muscles.  

One such evening, Keith comes across them on his way back from the training deck.  They’re in the lounge, Shiro sitting sideways on the couch and Lance behind him, pushing his thumbs in small circles along the sides of a particularly nasty-looking tangle of whip scars in the space between his shoulder blades.  It’s slow-going, but he can feel it working, bit by bit, session by session.

“What are you guys doing?”  Keith asks, looking confused.  

“Massage therapy.”  Lance says.  Shiro’s eyes fall closed with a soft groan, and Lance pauses.  “Does that hurt?”

“Kind of, but in a good way.”  Shiro says.  “That spot has been bugging me.”  

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”  Lance reminds him, and Shiro nods.  “Hey, Keith, you want in on this, when Shiro’s done?  You’re the only one I haven’t given a massage to yet.”

“No thanks.”  Keith says, shrugging.  “I don’t really do that stuff.”

“What, take care of your body?”  Lance raises an eyebrow at him.  “Because we all already knew that.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”  Keith says.  “I used to live by myself, remember?  How do you think I’m still alive?”  

“Honestly, sometimes I doubt you are.”  Lance quips.  “Pale skin, barely sleeps, arguably aesthetically-pleasing face, and a tendency toward the color red?”  He leans forward a little to stage-whisper to Shiro.  “I think he’s a vampire.”

“I’m not a vampire.”  Keith frowns.  “I just don’t care to be groped.”  

“Dude, in what way is a massage groping?”  Lance asks.  

“It’s not,” Shiro adds.  “I can verify.  So can Hunk and Pidge.  Lance is very professional.”

“I am the professionaliest.”  Lance winks, making Shiro chuckle and Keith roll his eyes.  Lance fans his fingers over Shiro’s shoulders, pushing the tips of his fingers into the tired muscle.  Keith watches for a few moments, head tilted slightly.

“What does it do?”  He asks.  “What’s the point?”  

“To relax the muscles.  And in this case, to break up the scar tissue so it doesn’t cause so much pain when he moves.”  Lance looks up.  “Haven’t you ever had a massage?”

“No?”  Keith cocks his head.  “Why would I?  I don’t have a lot of scars.”

“Well, it’s not just for scars.”  Lance says.  “Since you’re able to move and walk around, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you have muscles.  Don’t they ever get knots in them?”

“I don’t know.  What does that feel like?”  Keith asks.  

Lance pauses.  “You’re kidding.”  He shakes his head and gets back to work.  “Sit your butt down, mullet-boy.  You’re next.”  

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s actually pretty nice, Keith.”  Shiro tells him.  “I think you’d like it.”  

Keith’s lips tighten into a thin line as he considers it.  He’s not used to people touching him, but if even Shiro is okay with it… maybe it wasn’t so bad.  “I… guess.  Sure.”  

Lance smiles -- a genuine, friendly smile, not the smirk he usually gives Keith -- and pats the space on his other side.  “Sit here, I’ll do you after Shiro.  I mean, not ‘do’ you, but… yeah, you get it.”  

“Smooth.”  Keith snorts, taking a seat on the couch.  He crosses his arms as he waits.  Lance finishes up with Shiro’s back and taps his shoulder to get him to turn around for the last step in their routine.  

Cradling Shiro’s jaw in his left hand, he presses the pads of the fingers of his right hand in firm, steady circles into the front of his scalp, where his hair is white.  There’s no scarring, and the hair doesn’t seem to have stopped growing, it’s just… white.  Like so many of his other injuries (although he isn’t even sure if this counts as an injury, per se) Shiro doesn’t remember how he got this one, this… whatever turned his hair white.  For some reason, though, he doesn’t like touching it; the thought makes his scalp tingle unpleasantly.  It’s as if his body remembers it but won’t let his brain in on the secret.  So Lance does it for him.  He’s been massaging it for weeks, and although Shiro’s hair still grows steadily, it doesn’t seem to be changing.  He’s still hoping it’ll begin to grow black again, eventually, if they massage it enough.  Maybe the damage to the roots just goes deeply.  

After ten minutes, Lance takes his hands away.  “How do you feel?  Any other requests?”

“No, I’m good.”  Shiro smiles, rolling out his shoulders.  It’s always a relief to be able to move a little easier, after each session with Lance.  “You can get started on Keith.”

“Time for little Keefy’s first massage.”  Lance spins around, rubbing his hands together.

“Don’t call me that.”  Keith tells him flatly, looking unamused.  Shiro chuckles.  

They all jump as a sudden crash echoes from the kitchen two doors down, like several metal objects tumbling to the floor.  There’s a split second of silence, then they hear Pidge shout, “ **_no one_ ** _ is dead! _ ” followed by Hunk hissing “ _ Pidge! _ ” 

Shiro stands up from the couch.  “I think I’m gonna go check on them.”  Pidge’s exclamation sounds like something that should not need to be said.          

“Good idea.”  Lance nods.  “Call us if there’s an emergency.”  

After Shiro has left, Lance turns to Keith.  “Can you take off your jacket?  The t-shirt is fine, but the more layers there are, the less effective it is.”  

Keith hesitates, then complies, sliding his jacket off and setting it in his lap.  He jumps a little bit as Lance lays his hands on his shoulders, thinking they might be cold, but Lance’s hands are warm from working on Shiro.  

“Relax a little bit?  I’m not gonna bite you.”  Lance tells him.

“I am relaxed.”  Keith said.  

“Ha.”  Lance lets out a humorless laugh.  There’s a pause, and his hands still for a moment.  “Wait, you’re serious?”  

“Yeah?”

“Dude, you’re tense as heck.  I can feel it.”  He prodded his back.  “Lay down on your front.  You need a full massage.”  

Still feeling a little uncertain, Keith does as he says, laying on his stomach and resting his chin on his folded arms.  

“Arms down.”  Lance gently tugs his arms until they’re down at his sides.  “I need to be able to get to your shoulders.”  He starts there, somehow sensing that Keith would not take well to the idea of starting down at the base of his spine, as was best to do for bloodflow.  He starts with light pressure to get the muscles warmed up, knowing it would be bad to just dig into the knots he can already feel (both in terms of the muscle and because Keith would probably accuse him of making it hurt on purpose).  

“Do you always do this for Shiro?”  Keith asks, feeling awkward in the silence.  

“Mmhm,” Lance hums in agreement.  “I work on Shiro’s scars two or three times a day.  I give Hunk and Pidge massages too, from time to time, whenever they need them.  Pidge usually needs hand massages from typing so much, and Hunk tends to carry most of his tension in his shoulders and arms.  I’m Team Voltron’s personal masseuse.”  

“Why?”  Keith can’t help but ask.

“I like it.  It reminds me of home.”  Lance says, sliding his hands down to the middle of Keith’s back and working his way back up.  “We give a lot of massages in my family.  When my relatives started getting older and had aches and pains, I got pretty good at giving massages, even specialty ones like for scars and for muscle strain.” 

“Hm,” Keith makes a thoughtful hum.  Lance moves down to the small of his back and starts working his way all the way up again.  

“It’s crazy that you’ve  _ never  _ had a massage before.”  Lance says.  “Back when I was a little kid, my mom used to rub my back before I fell asleep, nearly every night.”  He smiles at the memory.

“Well, I never really had that.”  Keith says.  It’s not bitter or resentful, just stating a fact.  Still, Lance’s hand pause for a moment before resuming.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  Keith turns slightly to look at him over his shoulder.  “It’s no one’s fault.  It’s just how it is.”  He doesn’t know if his mom died, or just left him with his dad.  He doesn’t know what made his dad leave, or if he is still alive.  They probably don’t even know he has left Earth, if either of them were even still alive.  Leaving without warning seems to run in the family.  

Lance frowns, like he doesn’t really know what to make of that, but he doesn’t push the issue.  Instead, he starts working on some knots.  

“Ow…” Keith grimaces.  “I thought you weren’t supposed to massage bones.”  

“This isn’t a bone.  Feel how it moves?”  Lance pushes the knot back and forth under his skin.  “This is nearly two decades worth of stress in physical form.”  He does let up though, just a little.  Enough that it isn’t painful, but using enough pressure to break up the knot effectively.  

Keith closes his eyes.  He hadn’t expected this to feel that good, honestly.  But it’s nice.  Relaxing, even.  He nearly falls asleep; he had been on the training deck since dinner was over, and he’s pretty tired already, even without the steady, soothing movements of Lance’s hands on his back and shoulders.  

“Hey,” he speaks up.  “Can I ask you a question?”  

“Sure.”  

“Are you… dating anyone?”  

Lance pauses for a beat, then slips back into his teasing bravado.  “Why?  Are you interested?”

“Just answer the question.”

Lance sighs.  “As of right now, no, I’m not.”  He moves on to another knot.  “Why?”

“I just thought you were.”  Keith says.  “You and Hunk and Pidge… you guys seem close.  And then when I saw you with Shiro, just now… I don’t know, I just kind of assumed you were.”

“Yeah, we’re  _ friends _ .”  Lance says.  “You should be familiar with the idea by now, you have some, too.”  

“So you give all your friends massages?”  Keith asks.  

“Yeah.”  

“So… we’re friends?”  

Lance hesitates, pretending to be concentrating on Keith’s muscles.  “Well, I only give massages to friends and… people who are potentially more than that.”  

“Which one are we?”  

Lance pauses to think about it.  “Whichever one you want to be.”  He says carefully.  

“Hm,” Keith hums thoughtfully.  A few minutes of silence pass before Lance decides to speak up again.

“Maybe… the second one.”  He hedges, hoping he isn’t misreading the situation.  At his words, though, he can feel Keith relax just a little bit more under his hands. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice quiet.  Lance smiles.  He opens his mouth and is about to say something else, maybe try some kind of witty pick-up line, when there comes another loud crash from the kitchen.  The sound makes them both jump and look in the direction of the door.  

After a brief moment of silence, they hear Shiro’s voice.  “ _ No one is dead still!  Everything is  _ **_fine_ ** _! _ ”  The words are spoken with a bit too much conviction to be reassuring, given the content.  

“Should we go see what they’re doing?”  Lance asks.

“Probably.”  Keith agrees, sitting up.  “We can, uh, continue later, if… I mean, I don’t know how massages work, if you finished it or whatever.”  

“Hm, I could do more.”  Lance pats his back.  “Now let’s go see why everyone is not dead.”  

To their utter surprise, they open the kitchen door to find everyone frozen place surrounded by a -- flock?  Gaggle? -- group of what look like large puff-balls with big eyes and little gray feet.  Pidge is holding one like a cat, Shiro has one tucked under his arm and is reaching for another who is sitting in the middle of a pile of metal pots and pans, and Hunk is standing on the tips of his toes to reach a fourth puff ball who is perched on top of the cabinet (where the aforementioned pots and pans  _ usually  _ go).  

“What the quiznak…?” 

“Lance!”  Pidge holds out the puff ball.  “Frederick hurt his foot.  Can you massage it, too?”  

“ _ Why do you even have a puff ball named Frederick in the first place?! _ ”

“They’re my garbage buddies!”     


	5. Chapter 5

“What are you looking for?”  Keith asks, glancing over his shoulder.  Lance’s hands, which had been massaging his lower back, have stilled and he looks to be peering down intently.

“Your ass.”  Lance says.  “I can’t find it.  Where is it?”

“You’re  _ sitting on it _ .”

“Yeah, but there’s like, nothing there.”  Lance pats it.  “Your butt is like  _ Where’s Waldo? _  Or  _ Flat Stanley _ .  Where did it come from, where did it go?  It’s like the world’s most mysterious cryptid, always escaping your sight.”

“You don’t  _ have  _ to sit on it, you know.”  Keith points out.  

“No, no, I like your flat cryptid butt.”  Lance says, resuming his massage.  “It’s cute.”  

“Your  _ face  _ is cute.”  Keith mutters it like an insult, but it just makes Lance laugh.  

“Oh my god, just kiss already.”  Pidge groans, walking into the lounge.  

“Pidge!”

“What?”  Pidge plops down next to the far wall with her laptop.

“We are  _ having a moment _ !”  Lance hisses.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two having a bonding moment meant my laptop would spontaneously begin to recharge itself on its own.”  Pidge says flatly, plugging in her computer at the wall outlet next to her.  “I forgot the sheer power of your love fuels this entire spaceship.”

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?”  Lance gives her a pointed look.

“Actually, no, this is the only electrical outlet on the ship.”  Pidge says, resuming whatever she was working on.  “The downside to everything being powered by Balmera energy crystals.”  

“Hey, is anyone using the outlet?”  Hunk asks, sticking his head in the door.  

“Oh, come on…”  Lance throws his hands up.

“I’m using half of it,” Pidge says, ignoring Lance.  “You can use the other half.”

“Cool, thanks.”  Hunk takes a seat next to her and plugs in a hand-held electric drill in the bottom socket.  Keith sighs and wiggles out from under Lance.  

“What are you guys up to?”  Shiro asks as he enters the room.

“Date-crashing, apparently.”  Lance mutters.  

“No one said you couldn’t continue your little flirty massage.”  Pidge waves a hand in his direction carelessly.  

“Too late, the mood has been  _ killed.   _ Brutally  _ murdered _ .   _ Slaughtered _ .”  Lance crosses his arms.

“Beaten like a dead horse?”  Pidge offers.  “Oh wait, that’s what you’re doing.”  

Shiro chuckles and sits down on the couch with a book.  Hunk pulls his goggles down and keeps working on his mechanical project, and Pidge turns back to whatever she’s typing on her laptop.  Lance slouches in his seat and frowns, feeling grumpy.  

“You know what,” Lance speaks up after a few minutes of silence.  “I need to have a word with you so-called  _ pal _ -adins.”

“We’re sorry for crashing your date.”  Hunk says, but doesn’t give any indication of standing up or leaving.  

“No, no, this is bigger than that.”  He points an accusatory finger at all of them in turn.  “I have given all of you countless massages, but has anyone ever offered to do me in return?”

“I think Keith has.”  Pidge quips.

“Ohhhh…” Hunk holds out a hand for a high-five while Keith covers his face with his hands.  

“ _ Offered to give me a massage _ , you gutter-brained gremlin!”  Lance rephrases.  “And the answer is  _ no _ , none of you have.”

“Because we don’t know how to give massages.”  Keith points out.  “You’re the only one who knows what you’re doing.”

“What, you think I was born knowing this stuff?  You learn it!”  Lance says.  “And you learn by doing it!  So everyone get your butts over here.  Time for massage lesson 101.”  

Shiro sets his book down.  “Lance has a point.  He does so much for us, it’s the least we can do to try.  Besides, we all know how it feels on our end, so it can’t be too hard to do.”  

“That’s right.”  Lance nods.  “Pidge, you’re on hand duty, because I know you have enough experience with that to figure it out.  Hunk, shoulders.  Shiro, you can try that headache relief thing I did for you last week.  And Keith, you get feet, because I had to rub yours last night and I know  _ mine  _ don’t stink.”  

“Wait, all at the same time?”  Pidge asks, looking up.

“Yeah.”  Lance sits back, propping his ankle up on his knee.  “I deserve to be a little pampered after all I’ve done for you guys.”  He says it like a joke, and is surprised when they all shrug and accept it, or agree with him.  Huh.  He didn’t think that would actually work, to be honest.  

Everyone gets settled around him; Hunk sitting behind him on the back of the couch behind him to get to his shoulders, Shiro kneeling on the couch next to him and rubbing his fingertips in circles over Lance’s temples (using slightly more pressure with his right hand, but no one’s technique can be perfect on the first try, and he knows Shiro has some trouble feeling things with his Galra-tech arm to the same extent as his flesh one), Pidge frowning in concentration next to him while massaging the palms of his hands, and Keith on the floor in front of him with Lance’s foot in his lap, rubbing his sole.  Lance occasionally speaks up to correct someone’s technique or let them know they’re using too much pressure, but for the most part, he lets them all figure it out as they go.  

As they work, they all eventually start to talk about missing Earth, their families, their hopes and dreams and doubts and fears.  It’s relaxing and theraputic, not just for the one being massaged but for all of them.  Eventually, they all grow so relaxed and drowsy that they begin to doze off, right there against each other.   By the time Allura walks by a few hours later, they are all sound asleep; Hunk between the back of the couch and Lance’s back and leaning his head against his hair, Pidge cuddled up to his left side with his hand still between hers, Shiro on his other side leaning against him and hugging his arm, and Keith resting against his leg with one foot still in his lap.  Allura pauses in the doorway, blinking at the sight, then gestures to the space mice, who have been watching the paladins curiously from just inside the door for the past several minutes.  When they spot the princess, they begin pointing and squeaking.

“They’re  _ what _ ?”  She asks, watching the mice mime rubbing each other’s shoulders and pointing at the paladins.  “Grooming?  I didn’t think humans did that.  Well, you four should know not to interrupt grooming.  Come along, let’s leave them be,” she gestures for them to follow, and they scamper over to her before she closes the door with a fond smile on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked it! Thanks for reading!


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